As Thick as Thieves
by Everything In Its Right Place
Summary: Hawke is a prolific thief that has recently had her territory encroached upon by an elf who can walk through walls.


In response to this prompt:

_Fenris's can use his markings make his entire body intangible, allowing him to walk through walls and other solid objects. After he escapes from Danarius, he uses this ability to become a master thief, possibly with a side order of vigilante slaver-slaying and slave-saving thrown in._

_Feel free to take this plot bunny in any direction you want - I just want to see Fenris pulling off some truly spectacular heists and becoming a local legend in the process._

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><p>Hawke's long fingernails tapped an irritated staccato on her rich, mahogany dining room table.<p>

"How?" she demanded. "I've been trying to break into that place for weeks. It's locked up tighter than a chastity belt."

Isabella tried to stifle a chuckle unsuccessfully. Varric heaved a heavy sigh. "No one knows. This guy is incredible. He gets in without picking locks and gets out without leaving a trace. People have started calling him the Phantom Wolf. He's the best thief I've ever seen."

Hawke jerked up in anger, her chair scraping loudly across the floor. "_I_ am the best thief you've ever seen!"

"That's technically true," Isabella chimed in, her feet nonchalantly crossed on the table as she leaned back in one of Hawke's heavy, ornate dining chairs, forcing it to rock precariously on two legs. "Varric has never seen him. No one has."

"I will," Hawke insisted through clenched teeth, "and when I do, I'm going to tell that phantom jackass that this is _my_ town, and those are _my_ marks, and he'd better find a new city to pilfer from."

"What makes you think he'll listen to you?" the pirate snorted.

The razor-edged blades on Hawke's back gleamed in the waning light of the setting sun that streamed through her windows. "Oh he'll listen," she sneered. "He'll listen, or he'll be dead."

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><p>Night in Kirkwall hid many things, the dark obscuring dirty corners and the dried blood of bandits that peppered its cobblestone streets. It also hid a scourge that had been quietly stealing into homes to remove the most valuable items there from the affluent and average alike. Hawke was a part of the shadows, gliding instead of walking, her thin fingers lifting purses from pockets and picking complex locks as though they were specifically designed for those devious tasks.<p>

This night was no different as she stealthily crept along the nearly empty streets to the DeLauncet's side door, having received a tip from Varric that the tittering Orlesians were attending some fancy dress party being held until the early hours of the morning. The aging, gilded lock gave way easily under her practiced hands, and she grinned in triumph as she slid through the door and carefully closed it.

Hightown jobs were always the easiest, the local architect having come up with only a single design, which her home shared. Hawke knew exactly where to go first. Delicately, she ascended the main stairway to the master bedroom and giddily began picking through the vain Dulci's jewelry box. There was absolute silence, save for her shallow breathing and the occasional clink of gold and jeweled bracelets and necklaces as Hawke carefully stowed her ill-gotten gains into her pouch.

The sign of a master thief, it took mere seconds to procure the jewelry and only a few moments more to locate the DeLauncet's strongbox and remove the nearly thousand gold they kept stored there. Job done, she moved silently back the way came, on edge in case the unsuspecting owners returned early when something shiny in her periphery stopped Hawke dead in her tracks and nearly had her choking on her own hastily indrawn breath.

Incredulous and dumbfounded, she watched as an ethereal hand, gauntleted in sharp steel layers that turned the fingers into claws, made its way through what she was sure was a solid stone wall. It was followed by an arm intricately patterned with glowing blue lines, and finally by an entire elf with hair as white as bleached bones and a broad sword nearly as tall as she was strapped to his back. Hawke had never believed in the Maker or Andraste, but with what was so clearly a spirit before her, for what other being could pass through walls and glow and be so remarkably beautiful, her lips moved to recite what little of the Chant of Light she remembered, though no breath left her lips to give the words voice. She trembled soundlessly as this ghostly figure seemingly solidified into an extremely nervous and handsome elf, the glowing lines dimming to thick cords of scars that decorated every inch of exposed skin from his chin down. His deep green eyes shifted around the room, missing her completely as she had unconsciously stealthed back into the shadows at his first appearance. Then, without hesitation, the ghost turned man bounded up the stairs the way she had just come.

Hawke knew she should leave, knew that even if this was an incredible event, she was in the middle of committing a fairly serious crime and should fear getting caught, but her feet moved on their open, following far enough behind to keep from alerting him of her presence. She watched, a single eye peering from the doorway of the master suite. Only years of practice at her trade kept her from gasping in alarm as the elf's arm glowed blue once more and slid into the emptied strongbox, seeming to feel around for the gold no longer there. Finding nothing, the hand snatched back, and an ugly snarl twisted the elf's beautiful face. With less grace, he dug through the jewelry box once overflowing with treasures and came up with only the cheap costume pieces Hawke had been smart enough to leave behind.

"Venhedis!" His deep whisper rumbled through the air, clutching at Hawke's heart as she ducked behind the door just before he whipped around. He stormed out of the room and thundered down the stairs, his bare feet barely making a sound despite his furious pace. Slowly, she followed, too curious to leave, too frightened to match his speed. She caught up to him in the kitchen as he raided the larder. His arms were laden with bread, a long string of sausages was draped about his neck like a scarf. Hands barely hanging on to four bottles of wine and a large chunk of cheese dangling precariously from his mouth, the elf turned ethereal once more. His burdens glowed as blue as his body, and he walked directly through the thick stone wall of the kitchen, disappearing as if he had never been there in the first place.

Hawke let out the breath she had been holding, leaning against the wall with her head tilted back. She tried to wrap her mind around what she had just seen. Magic, it must have been, magic that the world did not yet know. And that man, the elf that slipped through walls, must have been the Phantom Wolf the town whispered about in equal parts fear and awe. A man like that did not need to be at the end of her blade. His skills were far too useful. He needed to be at her side, preferably in her bed. As she hastily made her escape, she devised a plan to do just that.

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><p>Well, there you have it for now. I have an outline set up, but I still need to flesh it all out. Hope you like the story so far! Please review and tell me what you think.<p> 


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